The Gray
by Jamie11
Summary: One-parter about someone's feelings after the death of a loved one. Do not read it if you're looking for action.


A/N – This is a one-part story.  I sat down to type another chapter to my other story, Second Chances, and this is what came out instead.  I'm not sure if it's any good or not, but regardless, here it is.

Disclaimer:  Not mine – even the original idea for the story isn't mine, it's been done a lot, but oh well.  This particular version of it is mine.  (Please please please don't copy or plagiarize it…I do read the other fictions on this site, and I do recognize it when I see my ideas in someone else's story.)

Background:  This could be set at anytime, so no spoilers.  I guess what I was thinking is that Rory is with Jess, but it's not really important.  Beyond that, I can't really say, without ruining the impact of the story.  (At least, without ruining the impact I hope the story will make.)

THE GRAY

She answered the phone.  Brief pleasantries were exchanged, arrangements were made.  She hung up.  She sighed, and walked to the window, looking out.  It was gray.  Overcast.  Everything looked dirty.  The pavement was still wet from the melting of the recent snow.  Some small clumps remained in isolated areas, stained gray by the exhaust from passing cars.  All of the colors seemed muted.  She sighed.  Gray.  She turned, and walked listlessly to her room.  She looked at her books, trying to decide if she wanted to read or not.  Another sigh.  She moved on to her CD collection, trying to decide if there was any music she wanted to listen to.  Gray.  Everything was gray.  With another sigh, she flopped onto her bed, and stared at the wall, listening to the sounds of her too empty house.  

He had wanted to stay…hadn't wanted to leave her alone.  She had told him to go, reassured him that she was fine, would be fine.  He had looked as though he didn't believe her, but he left anyway.  There was nothing more for him to say.  There was nothing left to be said.  

Another sigh.  She rolled off the bed, landing lightly on her feet.  She stood, and walked back into the living room.  She moved robotically to the television…the last movie they had watched was still in the VCR.  Willy Wonka.  She started it again, and made her way to the couch, thinking that perhaps the lively colors of her favorite movie would brighten her mood.  She sat there, staring at the screen, until she noticed numbly that the movie had ended.  She sighed again, and stood.  She wandered into the kitchen, still over-flowing with food left from the funeral.  She began to make coffee.  When it was done, she poured herself a cup, and took a sip.  Another sigh.  Even the coffee tasted gray.  

She made her way up the stairs.  Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, she stared at the familiar mess.  Her grandmother had wanted to go through her mother's things, box them up.  She had said no, that she would take care of it.  Now she stood there, staring.  She could see her mother frantically digging through the clothes, looking for the perfect ensemble for her latest date.  She could see her bouncing on the bed, a wide grin on her face.  She could hear the echoes of her mother's laughter.  She walked to the bed, and curled up on it, her mother's blanket, the one made from her baby clothes, wrapped tightly around her.  At last they came.  The tears she had been waiting to shed.  Sobs wracked her body, and she cried.  Cried for her mother, for her friend, her companion.  Cried for herself.  She cried for the gray.  She finally cried herself to sleep.

When she awoke, the sun was streaming through the window, and onto her tearstained face.  Her head hurt, and her eyes itched.  She sat up, and looked around, noticing that the gray seemed to have faded slightly.  She could pick out bits of color in the clothes.  Her mother's red blouse.  The blue skirt.  The sparkly clips.  With a sigh, she stood, and began to sort the clothes into dirty and clean.  She took the dirty clothes to the laundry room, and started a load, before returning to the bedroom.  

It was dark by the time she finished.  The room was clean, the bed made, the clothes folded, and neatly put away, ready to be sorted through yet again, ready to be boxed up, and donated to some charity or another.  She turned off the light, closed the door, and walked downstairs.  The coffee she had made that morning was burnt, the sour smell permeating the first floor of the house.  She grabbed her coat, and walked out the door.

When she got there, the other customers fell silent.  She could feel them looking at her.  The looks were full of sympathy and caring.  But she knew…knew that they had already gone on with their lives, the way she would now have to.  She could feel the grayness seeping back in.  She squared her shoulders, and walked to the counter.  The man standing there silently handed her a cup of coffee, and offered her a tentative smile.  She took a swallow of the coffee, her mother's voice in her ears.  Setting the cup down, she straightened her back, looked him in the face, and forced herself to return the smile.  "Thanks, Luke."

His smile widened, and his worried eyes showed his relief.  "Sure."

The grayness receded a little bit more.  Just a little, but it was enough.  She knew that someday, it would be gone entirely, though her life would never again be as bright.


End file.
